Shannon Holmes: A Study In Pink
by SHauthor
Summary: What would happen if Sherlock was actually a girl named Shannon?What would change? Let me introduce you to an idea that popped into my mind.A love story with a dash of mystery and action.  Full summary inside
1. Suicides

_**The Idea**__: Well, this idea came to me as I was actually prank calling my brother on my mom's cell. I said something about being Sherlock Holmes and my mom said, "Sherlock isn't a girl. If he was, his name would have to be Sherla or something!" And so, this story was born._

_**Notes:**__ The story won't follow the exact lines because, well you know, I want to mix it up a bit. Also, the characters may be a bit out of character, but they're still them. One last thing, the whole story will be told as if it is a movie, so, to get the full effect of it, you may want to read it while the certain theme song (which will be written in bold) is playing._

_Please let me introduce to you a love story with a sprinkle of action:_

_Shannon Holmes_

_(I do not own Sherlock Holmes…obviously)_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

John's eyes popped open again as he blasted up from his bed. His breathe was heavy and sweat slowly dripped down his face. "It's just a dream for christsake," he whispered, gently wiping his forehead.

He blinked several times and sat up, leaving his legs hanging on the side of his bed. It was just a dream, he chanted, it was just a dream. He stood up and headed for his closet, quickly changing into something decent and sat in front of his computer, simply staring at it.

John shook his head and looked at the clock, it was only five in the morning. He sighed and logged into his blog. He didn't know what to write. Nothing ever happened to him so what could he write about?

What does his therapist expect him to write down? Sitting here and staring at my computer? It's not like anyone would actually read it. It's not as if John was a famous person. So, what exactly was the point in this?

John finally gave up and logged off, walking to his kitchen to make some coffee. I wonder if anything interesting will ever happen to me, he thought, sipping his coffee.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"So, have you written anything in your blog yet John," Dr. Jameson, his therapist, asked.

John stayed quiet, but eventually shook his head.

"John, you're a retired soldier. You need to express your feelings somehow and I think it would be best if you kept a blog," she said, scribbling something in her notebook. "I know you have trouble expressing them, but you need to learn."

"You just wrote 'has trust issues'," John accused her.

Dr. Jameson sighed. "See, you just read my writing upside down." She closed her notebook. Just write down what happens to you."

There was a moment of silence until John responded. "Nothing ever happens to me," he muttered, staring straight ahead.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**Sherlock BBC's Theme Song Plays**

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The First Suicide: October 12

"Where's my car," a man asked over his phone.

The woman giggled. "The car went to Waterloo. Get a cab," she insisted.

"But I don't want to get a cab," he said, walking around in the airport.

She looked around the office. "I love you," she whispered.

"Gwen," the man muttered, slightly blushing.

"Get a cab," she giggled, and then hung up.

Later on….

The man who had spoken on the phone was suddenly sitting on the floor in an abandoned building holding a bottle which contained a pill which was colored red and white. He hesitated before he opened the cap. Then, he swallowed it; leaving him to collapse onto the floor, foam coming out of his mouth.

Few Days Later:

"My husband was a happy man," a woman in front of the media stated, "lived life to the fullest. He loved his family and his work and that he should have taken his life this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him."

The woman who had spoken to him on the phone stood at the back, gentle tears slowly dripping down her cheeks.

The Second Suicide: November 26

Two young men ran down the street as the rain poured harshly over their head. One had an umbrella and has insisted they shared, but the other was getting frustrated as only he was the one getting wet.

A cab then came rolling down the street. The frustrated man whistled and tried to get the cabby to stop, but failed.

"Ugh," the frustrated man muttered. He turned to his companion. "Let me get my umbrella. It'll only take me five minutes."

The man began to run. "We can share mine," the other man yelled, but he ignored him.

Five minutes passed by and still the other man waited to the other man to show up. He shook his head and gave up, following the other man back home.

What the man didn't know was that the other man was sitting on the floor in the gym, water dripping around him. He held the same bottle that the other man had held. Inside it was the same exact pill that the other dead man had taken.

The man began to cry and shake as he took it. Then, the next day, his face was on the cover of the newspaper. He had committed "suicide".

The Third Suicide: January 27

A woman dressed in formal wearing came out of the dance hall and up to a dark skinned man dressed in a tux. "She's still dancing," he asked, a bit shocked.

The woman nodded. "Yes, if you can call it that."

"Did you get her car keys," the man asked, smirking.

"Got them out of her bag," she said, jiggling the keys in front of his face.

He nodded and looked into the dance hall. "Where is she?"

Outside the parking lot, the woman they had been talking about was standing there, drunk. She searched for her keys frantically, but couldn't find them. When she looked to her left, she spotted a cab and headed for it.

She later ended up in a storage facility, taking the exact same pill that the other two men had taken. She was found dead.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_I hope you guys enjoyed it! I'll be updating maybe tonight or maybe a few days later! Please reviews! It makes Sherlock and John happy!_


	2. Who'd Want Me As A Flatmate?

_**The Idea**__: Well, this idea came to me as I was actually prank calling my brother on my mom's cell. I said something about being Sherlock Holmes and my mom said, "Sherlock isn't a girl. If he was, his name would have to be Sherla or something!" And so, this story was born._

_**Notes:**__ The story won't follow the exact lines because, well you know, I want to mix it up a bit. Also, the characters may be a bit out of character, but they're still them. One last thing, the whole story will be told as if it is a movie, so, to get the full effect of it, you may want to read it while the certain theme song (which will be written in bold) is playing._

_Please let me introduce to you a love story with a sprinkle of action:_

_Shannon Holmes_

_(I do not own Sherlock Holmes…obviously)_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"The body of Beth Davenport," Sergeant Sally Donovan began, speaking to the media, "Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in greater London. Preliminary Investigations suggests that this was suicide."

DI Lestrade looked around the room quite sadly and blinked a few times. "We can confirm," Sergeant Donovan continued, "that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."

Lestrade looked at the crowd of raised hands, slightly frowning. "Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked," a curly haired reporter asked.

He looked at the reporter and spoke into the mike. "Well, they all took the same poison. They were all found in places they had no reason to be. None of them any prior indication…"

"But you can't have serial suicides," the reporter interrupted.

"Well," Lestrade said," apparently, you can."

Another reporter began to speak. "These three people, there's nothing that links them?"

"There's no link we've found yet, but we're looking for it," Lestrade answered, not looking the reporter in the eye. "There has to be one.

Cameras continued to flash and the reporters continued to write on their little note pads as every single cell began to ring, signaling text messages. They all simply said "_Wrong_".

Everybody looked around, the DI and the Sergeant included. "If you've all got texts," Sergeant Donovan said, looking at her cell," Please ignore them."

"It just says wrong," a reporter read.

"Yeah, well," she said, slightly panicked. "Just ignore that." She waved her hands around. "Okay, if there are no more questions, for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end."

"If they're suicides, what are you investigating," a reporter asked quickly.

"As I say, these suicides are clearly linked," he said nervously squishing his hands together. "Um…it's….it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating."

Suddenly, all the phones received a text message again, all simply saying "_Wrong_". "Says wrong again," a reporter read.

"One more question," Sergeant Donovan announced as DI Lestrade rubbed his chin.

"Is there any chance that these are murders? And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer," a red head reporter questioned.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**Drum cymbal hit once**

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"I know that you'd like writing about this," DI Lestrade said," but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference." He smirked for a while, but it soon faded. "The poison was clearly self-administered."

"Yes," the red head reporter said," but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?"

"Well," DI Lestrade said obviously," Don't commit suicide."

"Daily Mail," Sergeant Donovan whispered to Lestrade indiscreetly.

Lestrade sighed. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."

Once again, everybody's cell rang which announced a text. It repeated the same message "_Wrong_". But, DI Lestrade got something different:

_You Know Where to Find Me ~SH_

"Thank you," Lestrade said, standing up, Sergeant Donovan following closely behind.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"You've got to stop her from doing that," Sergeant Donovan said frustrated, as they walked into the Police office. "She's making us look like idiots!"

DI Lestrade held a file in his arm, not stopping as he continued into his desk. "If you can tell me how she does it, I'll stop her."

Sergeant Donovan stopped in her tracks, dumbstruck as Lestrade continued to walk on.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

John Watson walked down the street with his cane in his right hand, obviously limping. He slowly walked by a big, burly man who was sitting down reading the newspaper. "John," the man yelled," John Watson!" The man stood up as John looked back at him. "Stamford," the man said, putting his hand over his chest. "Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together."

John reached out to shake Mike's hand. "Yes, sorry, yes, Mike, hello," he greeted.

"Yeah," Mike smiled. "I know, I got fat."

"No, no," John insisted.

He let go of Mike's hand to hold onto his cane again. "I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened," Mike asked, smiling.

John looked down from his cane and then back to Mike. "I got shot," he muttered.

Mike looked shocked and realized how stupid of a question that was.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mike and John ended up getting a cup of coffee and sitting down at one of the benches in the park.

"Ah," John sighed after he took a sip. "Are you still at Bart's then?"

"Teaching now, yeah," Mike said, smiling. "Bright young things like we used to be. God, I hate them."

The two chuckled and John looked down at his cane. "What about you, just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted out?" he asked.

"I can't afford London in an army pension," John said, rubbing his right leg.

"And you couldn't bear to be anywhere else," Mike said. "That's not the John Watson I know."

"I'm not the John Watson you," then he stopped and looked down at his left hand, slightly tightening his grip on nothing.

"Couldn't Harry help," Mike asked after he took a sip.

John scoffed. "Yeah, like that's going to happen."

Mike looked up at the sky. "I don't know. Get a flat share or something," he suggested.

John looked over at Mike and smiled. "Come on, who'd want me for a flat mate?" Mike began to laugh. "What," John asked curiously.

"You're the second person to say that to me today," Mike said, grinning.

"Who was the first," John wondered.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_Hope you guys are enjoying so far….course I wouldn't know since no one's reviewed yet. Please review, it makes Sherlock and John happy!_


	3. Meeting Shannon Holmes

_**The Idea**__: Well, this idea came to me as I was actually prank calling my brother on my mom's cell. I said something about being Sherlock Holmes and my mom said, "Sherlock isn't a girl. If he was, his name would have to be Sherla or something!" And so, this story was born._

_**Notes:**__ The story won't follow the exact lines because, well you know, I want to mix it up a bit. Also, the characters may be a bit out of character, but they're still them. One last thing, the whole story will be told as if it is a movie, so, to get the full effect of it, you may want to read it while the certain theme song (which will be written in bold) is playing._

_Please let me introduce to you a love story with a sprinkle of action:_

_Shannon Holmes_

_(I do not own Sherlock Holmes…obviously)_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The sound of a zipper filled the quiet air. A woman with long, wavy black hair looked down at the corpse, slightly grinning. "How fresh," she asked in a high musical voice and a British accent.

"Just in," a man quickly responded from behind her. "Sixty seven natural causes. Used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." The man had walked around and came beside her.

The woman zipped up the corpse and rose up, facing the man. "Fine. We'll start with the riding crop," she says, smirking.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The sounds of the riding crop hitting the body of the corpse filled the air as the woman repeatedly hit the corpse. "So," the man said, coming into the room as the woman stopped hitting the corpse. "Bad day was it," he asked politely, chuckling.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes," the woman responded, texting someone over the phone. "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

There was a moment of silence. "Listen," the man began," I was wondering, maybe later, when you're finished…"

The woman sniffed the air. "You're wearing cologne. You weren't wearing cologne before."

"I've had it for a while," the man said nervously. "I just recently refreshed it a bit."

The woman raised an eyebrow and continued working on her phone. "Sorry, you were saying," she asked.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have some coffee," he asked, smiling.

The woman closed her phone and put it into her pocket. "Black, two sugars please," she said, looking up at him. "I'll be upstairs."

She nodded and rushed upstairs, barely hearing the man squeak out," Okay."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The door opened as the woman slowly dropped some chemical on a palate. She looked up at the two men that entered and put the experiment away.

"Bit different from my day," John commented, coming in.

"You've no idea," Mike responded.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone," the woman asked, sitting down. "There's no signal on mine."

"And what's wrong with the landline," Mike asked, walking towards her.

"I prefer to text," she said, looking at the computer.

"Sorry, it's in my coat," Mike said, after patting his pockets.

"Ah, here," John said, getting his phone out his pocket. "Use mine."

"Oh," the woman said, looking up at John. She stood up. "Thank you."

"This is an old friend of mine," Mike said, pointing towards John. "John Watson."

The woman walked over and grabbed the phone out of John's extended hand and began to text. "Afghanistan or Iraq," she asked, quickly pressing buttons.

Mike looked over at John, who was surprised at her question. "Sorry," John asked.

"Which was it," the woman asked, looking away from the phone, but didn't stop texting. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" She then looked back at the phone.

"Afghanistan," John responded as the man who got the woman some coffee came in. "Sorry, how did you know?"

"Ah, Mosby," the woman said, shutting the phone close said," Coffee, thank you." She quickly handed John's phone back.

The man quickly handed the coffee to the woman. "What happened to the cologne," the woman wondered.

"It wasn't working for me," he said as the woman turned around and sipped her coffee.

"Really," she asked, walking back to her seat. "I thought it was a big improvement. You smell like corpses now," she continued, sitting down, continuing to sip her coffee.

"Okay," the man said quickly, exiting the room.

"How do you feel about the violin," the woman asked, setting her coffee cup down and getting to work on her computer.

Mike looked at John mischievously. John just looked confused. "Sorry, what," he asked, watching the woman work.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking," she simply said. "Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?" She turned to look at him, one of her eyebrows raised. "Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." She smiled.

John simply stared at her, his eyes quickly flickering towards Mike then back to the woman. "You told him about me," he asked Mike.

"Not a word," Mike said, looking away from a blood sample.

John looked down and then looked up at the woman again. "Then who said anything about flat mates?"

"I did," she said, turning her back at them and grabbing her dark blue trench coat. "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult woman to find a flat mate for," she continued, putting on her coat. "Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan." She tidied up her coat and began to work on fixing up her scarf. "Wasn't a difficult leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan," John asked, slightly shocked.

The woman ignored his question and reached for her phone, checking to see if she had signal again. "Got my eye on a nice little place in Central London." She put her phone into her pocket. "Together we ought to be able to afford it." She walked towards him and stopped about two feet away from him. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening, 7:00 o'clock."

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head slightly. "Got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." She began to exit the room.

"Is that it," John asked. The woman stopped in front of the door and turned around.

"Is that what," she asked curiously. She walked towards him again and stopped.

"We've only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat," he asked, even though it didn't really bother him.

The woman raised an eyebrow and looked away from him and then back. "Problem," she asked.

John smiled and looked at Mike, then back to the woman. "We don't know a thing about each other," he said. "I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

The woman looked at John intently. "I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan," she said, talking quickly. "I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife."

She looked down at his leg. "And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic-quite correctly, I'm afraid." John looked down nervously, obviously shocked. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think," she asked, smirking.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**Violin Theme Song Plays**

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The woman nodded at John and headed for the door, but before she shut it, she popped her head back in. "The name's Shannon Holmes and the address is 221 B Baker Street," she said, winking sweetly. "Afternoon," she said to Mike, finally shutting the door.

John looked at the door dumbstruck, his mouth slightly opened. Then, he turned to look at Mike. "Yeah, she's always like that," he said, grinning.

John raised his eye brow and stared at the door again, wondering exactly who Shannon Holmes is and why he was so interested in her.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

I hope you guys have been enjoying it. I know, I know, I updated thrice in one day. It's probably because I'm obsessed with the whole television series. I can't stop writing! Ha-ha

Please review!


	4. The Flat

_**The Idea**__: Well, this idea came to me as I was actually prank calling my brother on my mom's cell. I said something about being Sherlock Holmes and my mom said, "Sherlock isn't a girl. If he was, his name would have to be Sherla or something!" And so, this story was born._

_**Notes:**__ The story won't follow the exact lines because, well you know, I want to mix it up a bit. Also, the characters may be a bit out of character, but they're still them. One last thing, the whole story will be told as if it is a movie, so, to get the full effect of it, you may want to read it while the certain theme song (which will be written in bold) is playing._

_Please let me introduce to you a love story with a sprinkle of action:_

_Shannon Holmes_

_(I do not own Sherlock Holmes…obviously)_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

John came back to his own flat, which he thinks he will be leaving soon. He sighed and sat down on his bed, putting his cane down. He then reached for his phone and looked at his outgoing text messages and looked at the one Shannon had sent. It said:

_If brother has green ladder, arrest brother_

_~SH_

He looked over at his desk and spotted his laptop, fortunately still on. He picked up his cane and walked towards it, putting his phone down and getting onto Qwest Search.

John hesitated for a moment and then typed in her name, scrolling down the thousands of results it had given him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_Meanwhile….._

A woman dressed in all pink took the exact same pill that the other "suicidal" people had taken….

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next day, John was walking down Baker Street, searching for number 221 B. A cab had drove past him and stopped right next to him as he reached the door.

Just as John had knocked on the door, Shannon came out of the cab and said," Hello" as she paid for the fair.

Shannon was dressed in a blue button down and a black skirt and her normal trench coat and scarf. John felt underdressed in his blue sweater, denim pants, and leather jacket. "Ah, Ms. Holmes," John greeted, turning around and extending his hand.

"Shannon, please," she said, shaking his hand.

They waited for the door to open, giving John a chance to look around. "This is a prime spot, must be expensive," he said.

Shannon looked around. "Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal." John turned to look at her. "Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." Her gaze drifted away from him and went behind him.

"So you stopped her husband from being executed," John asked, surprised.

She turned her gaze to him again. "Oh, no, I ensured it," she said, smiling.

The door then opened and an elderly woman came out. John looked behind him to see what Shannon was staring at and saw nothing. "Shannon," the elderly woman greeted, giving her a hug.

"Mrs. Hudson," Shannon introduced, letting her go and gesturing to John. "Dr. John Watson."

Mrs. Hudson unblocked the doorway and gestured for them to come in. "Hello! Come in," she greeted.

"Thank you," John said, walking in.

"Shall we," Shannon asked, coming in after John.

Mrs. Hudson smiled at the two and shut the door, revealing the name 221 B.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Shannon took the lead and lead John up the stairs. She then stopped in front of the door at the end of the hallway, waiting for John to catch up. He had a bit of trouble trying to get up with his cane.

As soon as he reached the door, Shannon opened it and waited for him to come in. She left the door open and walked backwards, taking off her gloves.

John looked around and saw boxes surrounding the place, along with pillows and lamps that hadn't been properly placed. "Well, this could be very nice," John said, walking around. "Very nice indeed."

"Yes," Shannon agreed, smiling. "Yes I think so. My thoughts precisely."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out," John said as Shannon said," So I went straight ahead and moved in."

John looked at Shannon, embarrassment in his eyes. "Oh," Shannon said, looking at John. She rushed to the sofa.

"So this is all…" John said.

"Well, obviously I can straighten things up a bit," she said, picking up the newspaper that had been on the couch and put it into a box. She took the mail and put it on top of the fireplace and stabbed a knife through it.

"That's a skull," John said, pointing his cane at the skull on top of the fireplace as Shannon turned around.

"Friend of mine," she joked, putting her hands in her coat. She looked at the skull and then back at John. "When I say friend…."

Shannon walked over to the sofa. "What do you think, then, Dr. Watson," Mrs. Hudson asked, coming into the room.

She took off her coat and scarf and neatly put it down onto the sofa. "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'd be needing two bedrooms," Mrs. Hudson said, her hand on her chin.

John frowned. "Of course we'll be needing two," John said.

Mrs. Hudson simply smiled at him. John looked at her weirdly as she walked into the kitchen. "Oh, Shannon, the mess you've made," she said, looking at her as she messed around with a couple of stuff in the boxes.

John took a seat on one of the couches. Shannon opened up her laptop which reminded John of something. "I looked you up on the internet last night," he said.

She turned to look at John. "Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, the Science of Deduction," he said.

"What did you think," she asked, smiling.

John frowned at him and raised an eyebrow. Shannon simply looked at him with a slightly amused face. "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb?"

"Yes," she said simply, crossing her arms. "And I can read your military career in your face and your leg and your brother's drinking habits on your mobile phone."

"How," John asked curiously.

Shannon gave him a look that said _you would like to know_, and turned to look at one of her boxes.

"What about these suicides then, Shannon. I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same," Mrs. Hudson said, looking through a newspaper.

Shannon heard a car stop outside and walked towards the window, spotting the police car. "Four," Shannon corrected. "There's been a fourth, and there's something different this time."

"A fourth," Mrs. Hudson questioned.

Shannon turned around and saw DI Lestrade running up the stairs, nearly tripping. "Where," she asked as soon as he was of hearing range.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens," Lestrade said, out of breath.

Shannon looked away from the DI. "What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

Shannon looked back at the DI. "You know how they never leave notes," he asked.

"Yeah," she said.

"This one did," he said. Shannon looked at him, putting on her poker face. "Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics," she asked curiously.

"Anderson," Lestrade responded.

She looked away, a bit angry. "Anderson won't work with me." Her gaze flashed quickly on John and then back to Lestrade.

"Well, he won't be your assistant," Lestrade said, a bit frustrated.

"I need an assistant," she insisted.

Lestrade sighed. "Will you come?"

Shannon rolled her eyes. "Not in a police car. It stinks and usually wrinkles my skirt. I'll be right behind," she said, looking away.

"Thank you," Lestrade said, relieved. He looked at Mrs. Hudson and bowed his head and quickly walked down the stairs and into the police car.

John looked around a bit confused.

As soon as Lestrade's footsteps had gone away, she smiled at the windows and turned to look at the two. Then, she jumped up, her flats nearly flying off of her feet yelling," Brilliant!" She then landed on the floor and faced the window. "Yes," she squealed and then sighed. "Four serial suicides and now a note!" She kept turning, light on her feet as if she was dancing in a ballet. "Oh, it's Christmas!" She grabbed her coat and quickly shrugged it on. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food," she said, still trying to put on her coat.

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson said.

Shannon looked at Mrs. Hudson, but kept on smiling. She then tied her scarf around her neck and grabbed her gloves. "Something cold will do," she insisted. "John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up," she said, opening and closing the door quickly.

"Look at her dashing about," Mrs. Hudson said as soon as Shannon had left the room. "My husband was just the same, but you're more the sitting down type, I can tell." She then started to descend into the kitchen. "I'll make you that cuppa, you rest your leg."

"Damn my leg," John yelled out. Mrs. Hudson hopped up and turned around. "Sorry, I'm so sorry," he said sincerely. It's just sometimes this bloody thing…" He tapped his leg with his cane.

"I understand dear," Mrs. Hudson said, patting her hip. "I've got a hip."

"Cup of tea would be lovely, thank you," John said, grabbing the newspaper that had lay beside him.

"Just this once dear," Mrs. Hudson reminded him. "I'm not your housekeeper."

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got them," John said, beginning to read the newspaper.

"Not your house keeper," Mrs. Hudson said, disappearing out the door.

John looked at the front page of the paper and spotted DI Lestrade, the same man that had asked Shannon for help. "You're a doctor," a voice said sweetly from the door.

He put down the newspaper and spotted Shannon leaning against the door, trying to put on gloves. "In fact, you're an army doctor," she said, putting on her left hand glove.

"Yes," John said, standing up. Their eyes met and John could see her eyes clearly, which was the same color as the ocean.

"Any good," Shannon asked as she put on her right glove.

"Very good," he said.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then," Shannon asked, walking towards John. "Violent deaths."

John hesitated for a moment, his breath a bit taken back. "Yes," he muttered.

"Bit of trouble too, I bet," Shannon asked, stopping inches away from him.

"Of course, yes," John said, his voice slightly breaking. "Enough for a lifetime, far too much."

"Want to see some more," Shannon asked, smiling.

"Oh god, yes," John said, their eyes never leaving each others.

Shannon made a swift turn and began to walk down the stairs, John following close behind. What's going on, John thought. My voice never breaks, especially in front of a woman. As they walked down the stairs, John continued to peek small glances at her, trying to figure out who she was.

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_I hope you guys enjoyed it! Please review! _


	5. Deduction

_**The Idea**__: Well, this idea came to me as I was actually prank calling my brother on my mom's cell. I said something about being Sherlock Holmes and my mom said, "Sherlock isn't a girl. If he was, his name would have to be Sherla or something!" And so, this story was born._

_**Notes:**__ The story won't follow the exact lines because, well you know, I want to mix it up a bit. Also, the characters may be a bit out of character, but they're still them. One last thing, the whole story will be told as if it is a movie, so, to get the full effect of it, you may want to read it while the certain theme song (which will be written in bold) is playing._

_**Special Thanks To: **__GwenCooper456, 98ShadowWolff98, misunderstoodloony, melstewarmth for reviewing! I really appreciate it!_

_Please let me introduce to you a love story with a sprinkle of action:_

_Shannon Holmes_

_(I do not own Sherlock Holmes…obviously)_

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**Intro Music:**

**One and Only by: Adele**

_**You've been on my mind**_

_**I grow fonder every day.**_

_**Lose myself in time,**_

_**Just thinking of your face…**_

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She's so….pretty, John thought, looking at the way her sleek black hair seemed to glow in the sun. Her eyes were perfect, like the ocean. And she walked with such great confidence, it amazed John.

"Exactly what are you looking at," Shannon asked curiously as they walked down the stairs.

John could feel his cheeks slightly heat up. "Nothing," he muttered.

Shannon noticed what his cheeks had done, but ignored it. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out," John yelled out as the descended from the final flight of stairs.

"Both of you," Mrs. Hudson asked worriedly, coming out of her kitchen.

As Shannon reached the door, she came to a harsh stop and turned around, walking towards Mrs. Hudson. "Impossible suicides, four of them," Shannon began, her mouth going into a wide smile. "There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Shannon reached Mrs. Hudson and hugged her tight.

"Look at you, all happy," Mrs. Hudson tsked. "It's not decent."

"Who cares about decent," Shannon asked excitedly, continuing her walk out the front door. "The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"

John followed closed behind as she left the building and called for a taxi.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The sound of silence surrounded them as Shannon busied herself with texting. John kept looking over, slightly confused. Shannon finally noticed and put her phone down, sighing. "Okay," she said, looking out the window. "You've got questions?"

John nodded. "Yeah, where are we going," he asked, looking around.

"Crime scene," she muttered, looking at John. "Next?"

He looked down at his hand. "Who are you? What do you do," he asked.

"What do you think," Shannon asked quickly, looking at the cabby driver.

"I'd say private detective," John mused, but didn't continue on.

Shannon looked straight ahead. "But?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives," John muttered, causing Shannon to smile.

"I'm a consulting detective," she said, grinning," Only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What does that mean exactly," he asked, looking at Shannon.

"Means when the police are out of their depth," she said, looking at him straight in the eye," Which is always, they consult me."

John smiled, amused. "The police don't consult amateurs."

Shannon sighed and looked out the window. This is getting a bit frustrating, she thought. Might as well tell him. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq, you looked surprised."

"Yes," John said, pleased that he was getting something out of her," how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw," Shannon explained. She then closed he eyes and pictured the office onto which they had met in.

_John had stood at the other side of the table, frozen. Shannon was about to put a drop of chemical in, but had been frozen too in the picture. _"You're haircut; the way you hold yourself says military. And your conversation as you entered the room…," Shannon explained.

_John had come in saying," Bit different from my day."_ "Said trained at Bart's, so army doctor, obvious," Shannon continued.

_John had handed her his phone, revealing his hand. _"Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists," she said, thinking. "You've been abroad, but not sunbathing."

_John stood there, watching Shannon use his phone. _"Your limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic, wounded in action, then," she deducted. "Wounded in action, suntan….Afghanistan or Iraq." She opened her eyes; she was back in the cab.

"You said I had a therapist," John said quickly.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist," Shannon said, feeling a bit tired. "Then there's your brother."

"Hmm," John asked.

"Your phone," Shannon simply said, turning John's phone around. "It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player. And you're looking for a flat share. You wouldn't waste money on this; it's a gift then. Scratches—not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins." She turned to John. "The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy, you know it already."

Shannon turned the phone to look at its back. "The engraving," John asked.

"Harry Watson," she stated. "Clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father. This is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin," she shrugged. "But, you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is."

"Now Clara," Shannon mused, looking at the engraving. "Who's Clara? Three kisses say it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently. This model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then." She moved the phone around in her hand. "Six months on, he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do, sentiment," she said, looking at John briefly, then continued on. "No, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you," she said, pointing it at him.

"That says he wants you to stay in touch," she said, taking a short breath. "You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help. That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking," she said, staring out the window.

"How can you possibly know about the drinking," John asked, amazed.

"Shot in the dark," she said, smiling. "Good one, though. Power connection, tiny little scuffmarks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge, but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them." She handed John his phone back. "There you go, you see, you were right."

"I was right? Right about what," he asked, confused.

Shannon continued to stare out the window. "The police don't consult amateurs."

There was a moment of silence, John slowly taking it in. "That…was amazing," John commented. You're so brilliant and absolutely breathtaking, he thought.

Shannon stayed quiet for a while, thinking about whether or not he was being sarcastic. Then, she looked over at him surprised. "Do you think so," she asked, smirking.

"Yes, of course it was," John responded quickly, looking at her. "Extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary."

Shannon scoffed and looked away. "That's not what people normally say," she said, sighing, not used to the feeling of being appreciated.

"What do people normally say," John asked curiously.

She sighed and turned to him. "Piss off," she muttered, grinning.

John and Shannon smiled at each other and looked away. John laughed and stared out the window thinking, how is she so brilliant?

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_Thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed it! Please review, they definitely cheer up my day and Sherlock and Watson enjoy it too!_


	6. Meeting Anderson

_**The Idea**__: Well, this idea came to me as I was actually prank calling my brother on my mom's cell. I said something about being Sherlock Holmes and my mom said, "Sherlock isn't a girl. If he was, his name would have to be Sherla or something!" And so, this story was born._

_**Notes:**__ The story won't follow the exact lines because, well you know, I want to mix it up a bit. Also, the characters may be a bit out of character, but they're still them. One last thing, the whole story will be told as if it is a movie, so, to get the full effect of it, you may want to read it while the certain theme song (which will be written in bold) is playing._

_**Sorry: **__My internet was down during the weekend for some apparent reason…so sorry! _

_Please let me introduce to you a love story with a sprinkle of action:_

_Shannon Holmes_

_(I do not own Sherlock Holmes…obviously)_

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It was dark when they finally arrived at the crime scene. The cab stopped and Shannon rushed out of the cab, John right behind her.

"Did I get anything wrong," Shannon asked, slipping on her gloves.

John looked at her and thought. "Harry and me don't get on, never have," he began. "Clara and Harry split up three months ago. They're getting a divorce. Harry is a drinker."

"Spot on then," Shannon said, grinning as they approached the scene of the crime. "I didn't expect to be right about everything."

There was a moment of silence. "Harry's short for Harriet," John said.

Shannon stopped walking as John continued on, quite pleased with himself. "Harry's your sister," Shannon muttered, John looking back at her.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here," John asked, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Sister," Shannon said frustrated, then kept walking on.

"No," John said, trying to catch up," seriously, what am I doing here?"

"There's always something," she grumbled as they approached Sergeant Donovan.

"Hello Freak," Sergeant Donovan greeted, her heels clacking.

Shannon ignored her. "I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," she said, looking at the building.

"Why," Donovan asked.

Shannon looked at her sarcastically. "I was invited," she said a matter of a fact.

"Why," Donovan asked a bit cockier.

"I think he wants me to take a look," Shannon responded, raising an eyebrow.

Donovan scoffed and looked Shannon in the eyes. "Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

"Always, Sally," she said, smiling and going underneath the police tape. Then, Shannon smelled something and looked up at Donovan, eyebrows squeezed together. "Even know you didn't make it home last night."

Donovan looked away from her and to John as Shannon tried to lift up the tape. "Uh, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine," Shannon said, still looking at Donovan, but this time with a glare. "Dr. Watson." She then turned to Watson. "Dr. Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."

Donovan raised her eyebrows. "A colleague? How do you get a colleague?" She looked at John. "What, did she follow you home?"

John sighed. "Would it be better if I just waited…"

"No," Shannon said, lifting up the tape and looking the other way.

"Freak's here," Sally said into her walkie talkie as John went under the tape, "Bringing her in."

Shannon followed Sally to the front door, but stopped to look around, deducing everything that she could. John simply kept walking, ignoring what she was doing, but quite amazed inside.

Shannon did a three sixty spin until she ended up in front of a man dressed in blue. "Ah, Anderson," she breathed out, sighing. "Here we are again."

Anderson took off his gloves and looked at Shannon sternly. "It's a crime scene," he began. "I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

"Quite clear," she said, frowning a bit, but slightly amused. John looked at the two, a bit worried. "And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out," Anderson said, quite bored. "Somebody told you that."

Shannon scoffed. "You're deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant," Anderson asked, frowning.

"It's for men," Shannon said, smiling.

"Well, of course it's for men," he argued, his eye brows creasing more and more. "I'm wearing it!"

Shannon looked at Donovan, who was standing just a few feet away from them. "So is Sergeant Donovan," she simply said. She then sniffed the air, causing Anderson to turn around and John to hold in his chuckles. "Ooh, I think it just vaporized. May I go in?"

Anderson turned back to Shannon. "Now, look, whatever you're trying to imply…"

"I'm not implying anything," Shannon interrupted; shaking her head slowly and giggling a bit, which John thought was quite cute. "I'm sure Sally came around for a nice little chat," she continued, walking past Anderson, John right behind her," and just happened to stay over." She then swiftly turned around. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." She looked at Donovan's knees briefly, then turned around and left.

Donovan and Anderson looked at each other worriedly.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"You should wear one of these," Shannon told John, pointing to the blue scrubs.

"Who's this," Lestrade asked as Shannon picked up some gloves.

"He's with me," she said, trying to tug her gloves on.

Lestrade looked at Shannon, still trying to put on his scrubs. "But, who is he?"

"I said he's with me," Shannon said, sternly. She and Lestrade had a short glaring contest.

"Aren't you going to put one on," John asked, looking at Shannon.

Shannon simply stared at him until John had to look away. "So, where are we," Shannon asked.

"Upstairs," Lestrade said, slipping on his own gloves, leaving John wondering what the heck he was doing here and if he would ever get to talk to Shannon alone again.

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_Sorry for the short chapter, but I'm super busy and I only quickly typed this up because I couldn't get a chance to update on Friday because of internet connections. Hope you enjoyed this though!_


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